


Blue Sheets

by Caenea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anonymous Sex, F/M, Sex, unnamed character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:58:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4950952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caenea/pseuds/Caenea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco is the king of booty calls at three AM, but Hermione Granger is the woman he will drop everything for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Sheets

Red lips, wide eyes, blue sheets.

Hair over breasts, sweat on your brow, her hands on your skin. Burning paths, cool kissed trails, scrape of teeth and hum of pleasure.

Nobody ever told you that this is what sex is – a half-dark room, the scent of arousal, the damp hair curling against necks. The whispered words unutterable in daylight, but accepted in the room that cannot judge because after all, it’s just a room and nobody is there but you and them. Them? Anonymous bar lovers, bringing the smell of alcohol and smoke into the accepting room. No names, hazy faces, slurred sentiments and leaving with the finish. Co-workers who found their way into your accepting room post festive party, still in the flashing reindeer jumper, who didn’t look at you once the mince-pie-brandy kisses were done. Slipping away with the dawn to meet a hastily-called cab, clad in the flashing reindeer jumper and carrying shoes so they wouldn’t wake you. The friend who answered the three a.m. booty call and came to announce the cab would come back for her at four. Nameless them’s who join the others.

Her.

Crystal eyes, ruby lips, diamond teeth. Pretty but hard like the gemstones you think of her in terms of. Ice cold like mountain streams and yet you cannot release her. She holds you like a puppy on a leash. You would beg at her feet to taste her sweetness and perhaps one day she’ll make you. You’d grovel at her feet if it meant you got to keep her for your own but deep down you know that she’ll never be yours.

Nobody’s fool, nobody’s girl and nobody’s lover. You are her lover, her boy and her fool, you the passive, her the aggressor. She is not the call at three a.m, she orders you over at three a.m. No matter how tired you are, you go because you have come to need her. You need the way she strips you of everything and leaves you trembling for her lightest touch. You need the way she takes all and gives nothing.

You live for the moment when she positions herself before enveloping you in hot, wet heat. When she sighs so softly you almost miss it. When she leans down over you to steal a kiss and sigh against your lips before sitting up straight again.

Even such a simple movement drives you mad. She is velvety tight, warm and wet and sometimes when she is still like this, just looking down at you, you can feel her heart. Your whispered please drops between you like a stone into a mill pond and that is when she smiles. You have given her what she wants, because what she wants is to see you desperate for her. She wants to look down at you and see you flushed and with eyes full of desire. She moves then, her hips moving, back and forth whilst you hold her hips. You touch her hips every time, if only to pretend that you are still in control of this situation. You know very well that you are not, that she controls this. She smiles down at you, before leaning down again to kiss you. This kiss is a warm invitation, the signal that she will do something else. Bracing her hands on your chest, she moves herself up and down and you gasp with the pleasure of it. For her part, she is panting now, lips parting and hips are moving freely as she fucks herself. You’re going to come. You can feel it, tightening heat, the tell-tale warmth behind your stomach. You must say that aloud because she’s suddenly still.

Fast, short strokes are done with now. She holds herself over you like a prize and because you’re desperate and so close to orgasm, you thrust up, trying to get further into that warm heat. She laughs softly, presses your shoulders down. In a voice made soft by desire, she tells you to be still. She moves with you, knowing you too well now and she holds herself there. Wet heat is still around you, but just the tip. Without warning, not even a smile to let you know, she drops down again, letting you experience that first rush again. Again and again, over and over, she moves now with long, slow strokes. Slow delicious torture.

_I feel every inch of you._

She whispers those words to you and she’s never done that before. Never before has she murmured to you that she feels all of you, that she’s as driven mad by you as you are by her. She’s quickened her pace again, her hands braced against your chest. She’s approaching an edge, you can feel the heat intensifying and she’s gasping now.

You love her like this, when she’s losing control and teetering on the edge. For the first time, you take control and touch her. You find her clit and touch it, caressing her gently. Her face contracts, her body tightens and you feel – oh God, how you feel her clutch around you. She need not tell you she had come, the long tremors going through her body and the hot clutch-clutch-clutch tells you that.

And now, now it is your turn. You need no more than her orgasm to trigger your own; you need nothing but to hang onto her hips as even your vision clouds. You lie helpless beneath her and all you can do is gasp for breath and gaze at her as if she might fade away in a moment. Her hands move from your chest, they stroke your face as she whispers again.

_I needed that. Thank you._

Always glad to help. But sometimes, as you watch her dress and smile at you before slipping out, you wish you could whisper to her to stay.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy the very first offering.


End file.
